


like a properly calculated algorithm

by astroturfwars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astroturfwars/pseuds/astroturfwars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo’s got a hand in his hair, pushing it out of his face so he can read properly, and one of the first non-calculus thoughts Daichi has all night is: <i>well, that’s a nice change of scenery</i>.</p>
<p>The second non-calculus thought Daichi has is: <i>shit</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a properly calculated algorithm

Daichi’s used to late nights. Long hours and stiff backs are part and parcel of his education as a computer science major, and the campus library is practically a second home. He’s a firmly established fixture in the quiet section, tucked away at a desk near walls of reference books, just close enough to a window that he can claim he gets a good measure of sunlight most days. Though lately Daichi’s been seeing more starlight through that window than anything else; he’s pretty sure he can track the passage of time purely from the position of the moon, and right now he’s looking up at a full one and guessing it’s at least past midnight.

It’s one AM, and Daichi’s sighing into the depths of his textbook. He’s been stuck on the same problem for at least twenty minutes, and though he’s not getting anywhere, he can’t bring himself to just give up. So there he is, head in hands, staring at a half-finished equation like he can make it write itself through sheer willpower alone.

“Looks like you’re having a productive night, Sawamura.”

Daichi jumps, nearly jabs himself with his pen, turns toward a familiar voice and growls, “Kuroo, you dumbass.”

Kuroo looks entirely too pleased with himself as he pulls up a chair and curls into it, butting their shoulders together. The sharp curve of Kuroo’s grin does absolutely nothing to help calm Daichi’s racing heart; neither does the teasing lilt to his voice when he quips, “Says the guy who’s waiting for his homework to do itself. Lemme see it.”

“You’re a _philosophy major_ ,” Daichi points out, frowning. He makes no move to put space between them and hopes Kuroo can’t tell his cheeks have gone pink. “What would you know about calculus?”

“Just as much as you do, apparently,” Kuroo says, and tugs Daichi’s textbook across the desk. Daichi casts sidelong glances at it, hoping maybe he can figure that problem out before Kuroo has some flash of insight—although he’s been trying to solve it for half an hour now, and maybe all he really needs is a break.

Daichi leans back in his chair, lets his mind go off-line for a bit, and promptly catches himself wondering how Kuroo’s flexible enough to crook his legs up under himself the way they are now. Kuroo’s legs are so _long_ , and Daichi’s just appreciative of them in an objective way, the way he is of other things he finds aesthetically pleasing but doesn’t quite understand. Like a properly calculated algorithm, for example, one of which Kuroo seems to be making a valiant attempt to work out on scratch paper.

Daichi’s brain clearly is not doing well with downtime.

It’s quiet for a few slow minutes. Daichi’s got nothing to do without his textbook, so he ends up looking aimlessly around the library until Kuroo catches his attention with a pensive low-throated noise. Kuroo’s got a hand in his hair, pushing it out of his face so he can read properly, and one of the first non-calculus thoughts Daichi has all night is: _well, that’s a nice change of scenery_.

The second non-calculus thought Daichi has is: _shit_.

“Here.” Kuroo slides the book back in front of Daichi and brings himself with it, leaning against Daichi’s shoulder as he taps something written in parentheses under a diagram. Daichi does _not_ look at Kuroo’s face; he concentrates on what Kuroo’s showing him instead, and lets the pieces-falling-into-place feeling of realization distract him as Kuroo drags his finger along a line of text. “Look, you just fucked up the algorithm.”

Daichi frowns at Kuroo, at his textbook, at the sheet full of scratched-out solutions, and at the world in general. The last thing he wants to be saying is, “Oh,” but here he is, biting back a _shit, you’re right_ , and crossing out almost everything he’d tried so he can write down Kuroo’s solution instead.

“Critical thinking skills,” Kuroo says, like it’s no big deal, and taps his temple. “Gotta look at the big picture, y’know?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Daichi says, as dryly as he can manage.

“It’ll cost you, though.”

“What do you want?”

“Breakfast.”

“…seriously?”

—

Turns out that yes, Kuroo was serious, and that’s how Daichi ends up buying coffee for two at an obscene hour on a Thursday morning.

He sits at a small table by the window, nudges Kuroo’s legs to the side and chooses not to protest when Kuroo knocks their ankles together under the table. Daichi’s been friends with Kuroo long enough to know he has to pick his battles wisely, and besides, the tactility is familiar enough that Daichi doesn’t mind. Maybe that says something about the way they are—but then again, maybe Daichi’s sleep-deprived and doesn’t have the faculties to give that idea any more serious thought. He’s probably just tired, that’s all; that would explain why the early-morning edge of Kuroo’s smile seems almost soft when Daichi looks at him through wispy curls of coffee steam.

“This one’s yours,” Daichi says, slides Kuroo’s cup over the table and takes his own in both hands, focuses on watching milk dissipate through his coffee like fractals instead of letting his mind wander across the table.

“Looks like you need it more than I do,” Kuroo quips. He looks well-rested, which isn’t unusual; Kuroo runs on catnaps and coffee and Daichi’s begrudging amusement, and nowadays he gets all three in spades. Daichi, unfortunately, runs on sleep, and he’s had about twelve hours of it in the last few days. He probably does need that coffee more than Kuroo does, and he’d have half a mind to take it back if some fuzzy part of his brain weren’t mumbling something about indirect kisses.

“Some of us have work to do,” Daichi says pointedly, “y’know, _real_ work.”

Kuroo feigns offense, but Daichi’s known him too long by now to fall for it. “Hey, like I’ve never pulled an all-nighter with you?”

He’s got a point—a point that continues to evade logic even after a semester and a half of being friends with Kuroo.

Daichi doesn’t make much fuss about his schedule. He’s busy, but he’s gotten used to riding the nearly constant current of activity that runs from morning well into the night. That’s not to say it didn’t take him months to learn how to tough it out; Daichi’s had his fair share of rough nights, and he’d been having one the first time Kuroo curled into the seat next to his around midnight, let loose a yawn, and proceeded to settle in for the night.

It’s been months since that first night and Daichi still isn’t sure what Kuroo does for however many consecutive hours while Daichi’s working. Judging by the amount of poorly stifled snickering, the tinny strain of girl bands, and the conspicuous lack of textbooks, Daichi’d definitely say Kuroo isn’t getting much real work done. And he’d ask, but he gets the feeling Kuroo would turn it into a joke in falsetto about Daichi being worried for his health.

Daichi doesn’t mind having company. It’s…nice, really, to have Kuroo there ragging on him when Daichi starts to zone out at three AM, to have someone nudged against his side when he’s trying not to be frustrated with himself and his major and the incessant ticking of the library clock.

So yeah, okay, maybe Kuroo’s got a point. That doesn’t mean Daichi isn’t going to roll his eyes as he concedes a quiet loss into his cup, ignoring the pleased little chuckles—when did those stop being irritating?—that he can tell Kuroo isn’t making an effort to disguise.

“You should get some sleep, though, yeah? Wouldn’t want you falling asleep at lunch again.”

Daichi directs his scowl upwards, at the _you know I’m right grin_ starting at the corners of Kuroo’s mouth, and snaps, “That was one time! And I hadn’t slept for two days!”

“Sets a precedent, doesn’t it,” Kuroo counters, and Daichi kind of wants to kick him under the table. He doesn’t, though, because Kuroo changes gears, gives him a slow once-over and says, careful and light, “You can take tonight off, right?”

Daichi’s going to blame sleep deprivation for the unfortunately familiar sensation of affection making him go much warmer than what the coffee warrants. It takes him a moment to sort himself out, to fight down the urge to smile, to be coherent enough to say, “I’ve got work to do. It’ll probably be another late night.”

It’s true; he has to study the last two chapters they’ve gone over in class, and that’ll take over an hour even without taking notes. He rubs at his temples, considers his schedule for the day, wonders if he can fit a nap in somewhere. Prospects don’t look good, but Daichi can make it work.

“I thought you science types were supposed to be efficient,” Kuroo teases. He earns himself a scowl and doesn’t look at all repentant.

“Shut up.”

Kuroo leans across the table, chin on his hand, and pins Daichi with a _look_. Daichi’s not quite sure if the drag of Kuroo’s ankle against his calf is intentional or not but he goes tense anyway, tamps down on a shiver, and doesn’t comment.

Kuroo says, “Even machines need to rest, Sawamura,” and there’s something compelling about the way Kuroo’s voice drops low and soft when he says Daichi’s name, something right about the way Kuroo’s mouth fits around it. Daichi could stand to hear his name said that way much more often—to say nothing of the accompanying reminder.

“Thanks,” Daichi says, because—fluttery feelings aside—he needs to hear that every once in a while, and Kuroo smiles like he knows.

“No, thank _you_.” Kuroo untangles his feet from Daichi’s and stands, shoulders his bag, gestures to his half-finished coffee. “You can have the rest. My treat.”

_I’m the one who bought that_ is what Daichi would say if he weren’t busy being embarrassingly grateful. He’s gotta make it through his first three classes somehow, indirect kisses and weird feelings be damned. 

Kuroo can probably tell what’s going through Daichi’s head, because he gives Daichi a slow little half-smile (one to be more thoroughly appreciated when Daichi’s fully awake), consults his phone and says, “I’ve got class and some advisor’s meeting this afternoon, so second date’s gonna have to be dinner. You free at seven?”

“Yeah, I’ll message you.” Daichi yawns hard enough to make his eyes water, and even though his vision goes blurry he can see Kuroo’s smile pulling up a little higher at the corners. “See you later.”

“Seeya,” Kuroo says, and flips a two-finger salute over his shoulder as he saunters out. Daichi figures that hey, what Kuroo doesn’t know can’t be exploited to Daichi’s detriment, and blames lack of sleep for the way his eyes linger as he watches Kuroo leave.

Lack of sleep is also the reason for the slowly sharpening realization that Kuroo had said _date_ when he asked about dinner tonight, and Daichi had _agreed_.

He’d agreed to a _date_ with Kuroo.

Daichi’s pretty sure dates with Kuroo are things you just don’t do unless you’re fond of smug smirks and irritating comments and butterflies in your stomach. Hell, Daichi’s been friends with Kuroo for the better part of the year, and he’s _still_ not used to the butterflies; he can’t imagine how much worse they’d get on a date.

…oh.

There’s a twinge of panic settling in his stomach. Daichi refuses to harbor it, tells himself everything’s fine, tries not to think about what a date is supposed to mean—for him, for Kuroo, for _them_. Worrying won’t solve anything; he’s got no control over Kuroo’s end of things anyway, and all he can really do is hope things work out somehow. He’s fairly confident in Kuroo, at least, because Kuroo’s antagonistic and snarky and sharp but he knows when to be serious, and Daichi trusts his judgment.

Daichi exhales until his head is level again, finishes his drink, fights down the fluttering in his stomach, and lifts Kuroo’s cup to his mouth.


End file.
